Butterflies
by Lancer1968
Summary: Pre-Lancer – Johnny Madrid Moments - Short Sequel to "We Need A Gunslinger"


Butterflies

Summary: Pre-Lancer – Johnny Madrid Moments

Warning: Cussing

Short Sequel to "We Need A Gunfighter"

Any and All Disclaimers Applicable

My Rifle, My Pony and Me, by Dean Martin

The sun is sinking in the west  
The cattle go down to the stream  
The redwing settles in the nest  
It's time for a cowboy to dream

Purple light in the canyons  
That's where I long to be  
With my three good companions  
Just my rifle, pony and me

Gonna hang my sombrero  
On the limb of a tree  
Comin' home sweetheart darlin'  
Just my rifle, pony and me  
Just my rifle, my pony and me

Whippoorwill in the willow  
Sings a sweet melody  
Riding to Amarillo  
Just my rifle, pony and me  
No more cows to be ropin'  
No more strays will I see  
Round the bend she'll be waitin'  
For my rifle, pony and me  
For my rifle, my pony and me

September 1871

Johnny Madrid rode his pinto, Apache south west away from the Yuma territory and Val Crawford towards San Luis, México. His penance of a ninety-day jail sentence on a disorderly conduct charge was fully paid to society, followed by a three-month probation period where he had to keep his nose clean and had stayed out of any trouble. He had served his probation under Val's watchful eyes, where he managed to remain pure as the driven snow simply by not venturing into town. Johnny had begun to feel like a saint, with no tequila, no girls and no fun, just cactuses, lizards, dust and Val to keep him company.

After the recent fracas in Yuma with Milt Hamilton, Day Pardee and the rest of their henchmen, Val Crawford decided to remain in the Yuma territory instead of traversing back to El Paso. Val had been made Deputy Sheriff of Yuma, in order to fulfill his commitment regarding the release of one Johnny Madrid. Thus, it was that Johnny remained at Val's humble abode on the desert prairie, where he further fine tuned his fast draw, gun-spinning and swift fanning skills. There wasn't an empty bottle or tin can that hadn't been shot to smithereens by Johnny as he concentrated on perfecting his already stellar aim with lightening fast precision.

A few days earlier, Val had escorted Johnny into Yuma, at the conclusion of his three months probation to appear before the new territorial circuit court, Judge Ammon Barnes. But first Val forced him to get a haircut at the barbershop and put on a clean set of borrowed Sunday go-to town dress clothes. Much to Johnny's chagrin he watched as his raven locks fell to the floor while Luis Cordova chopped off his wild curls well-above his shirt collar.

"It's too damn short," complained Johnny. "Luis! Dios! Stop takin' off any more of the length. Women like ta run their fingers through my hair, ya ain't leavin' anything for them ta hold on ta."

"Keep goin', Luis," directed Val. "Women? Johnny? As far as I know, ya only spent any time with Mandy. Are there more?"

"That ain't any of your business," Johnny grumbled. "Enough Luis!"

"If you don't stop buckin' this, Johnny, I'll have him shave ya bald," chided Val.

Johnny glared at Val. "Fine."

Val snickered as he noted that Johnny had crossed his arms underneath the barber's gown. "Oh, Johnny, it will grow back. Ya want Judge Barnes ta believe that ya did some growin' up, don't ya? Val growled. "Don't know why, but lookin' respectable makes a difference ta him."

"Fine," Johnny grumbled. "It's too late now anyway."

After the hair cut, Johnny pulled on a pair of grey trousers that hung loose on his slim hips, a white dress shirt with a string tie that Val tied so tight, he understood precisely what a rope around a condemned man's neck felt like. Val handed him a grey jacket that the arms were too long on him. He felt like a scarecrow in the borrowed duds.

"Why the hell should Judge Barnes care what clothes I have on?" Johnny complained as he rolled up the sleeves of the jacket.

"Same reason, as the haircut," Val explained.

"I look like a damn fool in this rig," Johnny griped.

"Don't ya go cussin' in front of him neither," directed Val. "Keep it simple, keep it civil, I wanna hear yes sirs and no sirs outta of your yap and for cryin' out loud, don't glare at the man."

"Can't ya go in my place?" Johnny asked.

"Was I the one sittin' on my ass in jail for ninety days, bucko?" Val asked.

"No."

"Think ya figure this out, then," Val smirked.

"Fine," said Johnny as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Can we go get this shit over with?" putting on a brave front as he felt butterflies stirring in the pit of his stomach. Johnny realized that this could go south on him in a flash, if the judge didn't like him or the report he received.

"Fine by me," replied Val. "Especially, if it makes ya stop your bitchin'!"

"I'll do my best," he said.

"Ya better," grumbled Val.

In the justice's court held in the temporary closed Silver Jubilee saloon, Val sang Johnny's praises of completing his sentence and following orders. For the most part, Johnny stood silently in front of the cankerous white-haired circuit judge, he held his hat in his hands, his eyes were downcast, as he memorized the scuff marks on the wooden floor boards and he mumbled his fair share of "yes sirs and no sirs," to appease both men. Once he looked directly into the eyes of Judge Barnes and got rewarded for this by Val's elbow nudging him sharply in the pit of his stomach, stirring up those damn butterflies.

Johnny hoped that the judge hadn't seen the glint in his eyes that would cause shivers to run up and down other men's spines in the future. Instead Johnny stood as still as he could, trying not to shift his weight from one foot to the other, as he listened to a long-winded lecture from Judge Barnes about all the evils waiting for him in the world. He was warned not to stand in front of him again or it could be worse for him in the Yuma Territorial Prison where he would have to break rocks in the hot sun, the justice further hoped that Johnny would choose to walk the path of good versus evil the remainder of his life. Johnny's ears were ringing from the monotone speech as he forced his feet to stop moving, his hands to remain motionless; this by far was the worst of his punishment.

"Dios, I hate eatin' crow, but if it gets what I want, a clean slate," he thought, "I'll chew the damn crow."

Johnny's head and ears were aching by the time he was finally granted his freedom. He wanted a drink to wash that bitter taste out of his mouth, but decided that this particular risk wasn't worth the reward, as long as the old judge and Val were too close his future comfort.

"I'll bide my time," Johnny reflected. "I learned this lesson the hard way; don't want no more of these lessons."

Val hustled Johnny out of the courtroom as quickly as he could, "Ya almost lost it in there, ya pissant," he grumbled.

"Ohh Val, ya know that patience is not something that I have a lot of." At least the butterflies in his stomach had finally subsided once he stepped out into the bright sun and hot, arid air, he was a free man.

"Johnny, if there's anything I can knock into that skull of yours, is this, "a man who masters patience masters everything else", ya need ta start doin' this, boy. Let's git ya out of those duds and then git on home."

# # #

Johnny had read in the Arizona Sentinel newspapers that Val brought home about how the Juaristas, followers of the Mexican resistance leader Benito Pablo Juárez García were in trouble and were hiring gunfighters to help their cause. Johnny liked the sound of this quest. He was good with his gun and he figured this would be easy money for him.

"México is no place for ya ta be headin'. They ain't partial ta gringos, Val tried to reason, "especially with all the fightin' for their independence goin' on. It ain't a safe place for ya ta go stick your nose in where it don't belong."

"Val, I know my way around Mexican border towns, did ya forget that I spent my misguided youth in them?" Johnny said, "'sides independence is what I wanted more than anything. I'm willin' ta help others get theirs now that I have my freedom back. I'll see ya 'round, Val."

"Ya sure ya don't want ta stick 'round here, pissant? Keep out of trouble?" Val gruffly asked, his stomach churning at the thought of Johnny's future in jeopardy in a country under constant turmoil.

Johnny laughed hardily, "Ya know Val that trouble always manages ta find me, no matter where I hang my hat."

"That it sure does boy, that it does," he agreed. "Leastwise if ya butt's here, I can keep it out of a sling."

"Thanks Val, but I've got other plans."

"Plans?" Val scoffed. "Sellin' your gun in trade. What the hell kind of plan is that?"

"Works for me," reasoned Johnny. "I wanna be good at my trade, make some money, that's all."

"Ya be dead before you're thirty," grumbled Val.

Johnny shrugged his shoulders, "That comes ta us all, don't it Val?"

"Why do ya want ta rush it, boy?" he quizzed Johnny. The butterflies inside his stomach were swirling in tight circles.

"I don't, I don't," Johnny replied. "I just need ta go out and see what there is out there. I can't stay here forever. Don't ya see?"

"I see a snot-nosed kid, I brought home, fed ya, put clothes on your back, kicked your ass when ya needed it and kept a roof over your head, now headed off ta play a dirty, dangerous game of sellin' your trade ta the highest bidder," grumbled Val. "Thought ya had more sense," he kicked at the dirt, sending up a cloud of dust.

Johnny had listened to what he had to say, "Val, I appreciate all ya did for me. Believe me, truly, I do. But a man's gotta move on at some point. This is it for me," Johnny crossed his arms.

Val crossed his arms too; both were digging their heels in on their own opinion. Neither man willing to budge.

"'sides, Val, ya can't hold me here, any longer, my probation is done. I'm a free man."

"Dammit, boy," Val said. "You ain't a man, not yet, not by a long shot."

"Ol' man, I'll miss ya, too," Johnny grinned.

"Now don't ya "ol' man" me, ya cocky kid. I'll wipe that smirk off your face, so fast, ya can't get your own name out of that smart yap," groused Val.

"'kay, Val," Johnny chuckled.

With a final wave, Johnny rode away from Val, who stood in the dirt yard, hands on his hips, watching until Johnny was nothing but a tiny speck in the horizon. Sighing, he walked back inside his home and slammed the door shut, grumbling, "Damn fool kid."

Johnny was satisfied to be on his way, riding towards a new opportunity, to another location, away from Val's iron fist and the United States law that had kicked his rump, even though he helped save a town and got nothing in return for risking his life. "Well, except for Mandy's good, good lovin'," he grinned thinking about her and how she had felt in his arms. He missed her and her cute little butterfly birthmark on her right shoulder that he liked to nibble on.

# # #

"Freedom's just another word, for nothin' left ta lose,*" a lesson he knew very well, too well, he thought as Johnny rode towards his destiny. He shook off his internal perspective and paid attention to his pony. Apache was a good horse, sometimes a tad skittish when the wind blew up dust clouds, swirling them around his hooves, signaling a storm was brewing; singing always calmed both the youth and his pony. Now he sang because he was free to wander again, go where he wanted, and do what he wanted with no man to order him around to do his commands. Singing just felt good to him today.

"Sweetheart darlin'," he rolled the words off his tongue, giving his pony a few pats on his withers. Apache settled back into his gait, from the reassuring touch of his rider.

"Just my rifle, my pony and me," he continued in his soft, gentle voice.

"The sun is sinking in the west

The cattle go down to the stream  
The redwing settles in the nest  
It's time for a cowboy to dream", he sang as he and Apache traveled, now more directly south than west away from Yuma.

The sun was dipping lower in the west; the fading light displayed shades of red, orange, yellow and purple streaks across the horizon. Johnny estimated that they had gone close to thirty miles; far enough for one day to put distance between him and Yuma, he began to look for a place to bed down for the night.

Johnny followed a pathway that was lightly-traveled along a narrow gurgling stream as it twisted and turned through banks on either side lined with eucalyptus, oyamel fir trees, prairie flowers and tall grass the swayed in the evening breeze. He preferred secluded locations, like this, off the beaten pathway, where he could rest without fear of someone sneaking up on him. Apache slowed his pace as his picked his way over the sandy loam adjacent to the stream, stepping over downed limbs as they presented themselves.

Apache's ears were twitching until Johnny gently scratched between them to reassure Apache that everything was ok. "Whoa, boy," Johnny said, he stopped to look at the area when he was suddenly surrounded by motion from every direction, little wonder that Apache's ears twitched. His hand automatically reached for his pistol as Johnny twisted around in his saddle; he looked to his right and to his left and then widely grinned, dropping his guard.

Johnny was surrounded not by men but by thousands upon thousands of tawny orange, black, and white, slow sailing, fluttering butterflies, more than anybody could ever count in a lifetime. In the approaching twilight they appeared magical to Johnny. He had never witnessed such a spectacle before. Thousands of butterflies hung in oversized groups upon the trees in elongated clusters, while others soared in the air all around him. A few landed on Apache and his shirt sleeves, as these creatures searched for a spot to cling upon.

"Well, I'll be," exclaimed Johnny as he pushed his hat back on his head. "Apache, did ya ever see such beauty before? This looks like the perfect spot ta spend the night." He dismounted and took Apache over to the water's edge for him to drink his fill after he had loosened the cinch. Johnny laughed as more butterflies landed on his vacated saddle.

"Not sure why all these creatures like this spot, but they sure are pretty all bunched together. If I ever get the chance and the money, I'll see about gettin' butterflies added to a nice Mexican red or orange guayabera. Maybe I can get some pretty senorita ta sew me a pleated shirt with fancy embroidery stitched on them. "What do ya think Apache? Think that will look good on me ta recall all of my encounters with butterflies?"

Apache was preoccupied with drinking the cool water to care what his rider wore or didn't wear. Johnny stepped lightly as to not step on any of the creatures, as he set-up his camp. He built a small fire that kept the butterflies from his blanket that he had spread close to the stream. Unsaddling Apache, he tied him to one of the trees where he could easily chew on the tall grass for his dinner. Johnny rested his upper body against his saddle, slowly chewing on dried beef jerky as he watched in utter admiration of the phenomenon he bore witness to until the night's shadow fell upon the earth.

"Whippoorwill in the willow  
Sings a sweet melody  
Riding to San Luis  
Just my rifle, pony and me" he sang as he drifted off to sleep with a cloud of swirling monarch butterflies dancing close by his campfire. 

~Fin~

Sun Dancer

Note: Monarch butterflies are the most beautiful of all butterflies, and are considered the "king" of the butterflies, hence the name "monarch". Monarch butterflies are the only insect that migrates to a warmer climate that is 2,500 miles away each year from their summer habitat.

The eastern North American monarch population is notable for its annual southward late-summer/autumn migration from the northern and central United States and southern Canada to Florida and México. During the fall migration, monarchs cover thousands of miles, with a corresponding multi-generational return north. The western North American population of monarchs west of the Rocky Mountains often migrates to sites in southern California but has been found in overwintering Mexican sites as well.

I personally experienced this phenomenon and it's truly a magical, awe-inspiring moment to witness. Johnny's character could easily have had the same experience; at least I like to believe that he did.

*Honors to the immensely talented and poetic Kris Kristofferson, singer and songwriter of "Me and Bobby McGee".

# # #

Johnny, Val and Day Pardee cross paths again in the sequel, "Do It to Them".


End file.
